Sam bit into her beef jerky while on her adventure. She had just escaped Mr. Lender's class on a "bathroom trip" again. The truth was she was tired of his constant mentioning of how cruel and inhumane it was to eat meat. She understood that the man was a cow-loving son of a gun, but why couldn't he just appreciate her meat?
Maybe she could break into Gibby's locker and stuff in some cucumbers she had just stolen from the cafeteria (for no particular reason). Yes, it sounded like a brilliant plan.
As she strolled in the hallway, she froze when she saw Freddie at his own locker, piling books in and out. Crap. It was his lunchtime. How could she forget?
The truth was she never forgot. Usually, she would skip class and see him packing his books, and then she would proceed to kick him into his locker. It was usually all in good fun for her. However, today she didn't feel like kicking him. She didn't feel like mocking him or abusing him in any way. Today, she didn't know what she felt.
But she still wanted to mess with Gibby's locker. After all, that's what he deserved for having that stupid party which led her to play that stupid game. So she turned to the right and started twisting Gibby's lock.
She tore it off easily and grabbed the cucumbers from out of her bag.
"Sam, what are you doing?" Sam jumped. She hadn't expected Freddie to approach her—or even talk to her for that matter. She shrugged.
"What does it look like? And stomp your feet or something the next time you decide to sneak up on me. Usually, I can hear your feet trudging that big ol' head of yours around." Freddie laughed. Sam actually hadn't seriously insulted Freddie for two weeks, ever since those few nights after her birthday.
"Don't tell me this has anything to do with last night." Sam quickly whipped around and grabbed his shirt. "You breathe a word of last night to Carly—or anyone else that wasn't at Gibby's party, and I will hit you like a Mexican Pinata." Freddie rolled his eyes. After those two weeks that they became close, Freddie wasn't scared of Sam anymore. Her threats were like empty words. He knew it—she knew it.
"It was just a game, Sam—a game that you started in the first place."
"Yeah, and that's because I didn't know I would hit a loser like you."
"Stop."
"Stop what? You said yourself that nothing had to change, and nothing has changed. You will always be a nub to me."
"Sam—"
"A nub, I tell you!" Sam threw the cucumbers with intense fever into Gibby's locker.
She turned to face Freddie, who was still smiling about the whole thing. Why was he smiling? "That could have been your locker if I wanted it to be."
"But it wasn't. Will you please stop acting weird?" Sam withdrew a breath and clenched her fists. Why couldn't he just leave her alone? She didn't want to talk to him when she was like this—when all his voice made her want to do was vomit.
"I'd rather listen to a man who doesn't respect meat at all than listen to you!" she shook her beef jerky at him as she said so, slammed Gibby's locker, and ran away.
Freddie started to frown as he watched her go. They were really great friends yesterday—despite her fighting with him about the sweater and going to the party and all that. And now, all of a sudden, Sam was back to her old self—only worse. Now, Freddie was plainly sure that she hated him.
He should have never kissed her. He never should have admitted to himself that he wanted it, or that she wanted it. Maybe she didn't want it at all. He just wasn't thinking at that moment—with all those people surrounding him, ready with forks and fire if he didn't kiss her.
And she seemed into it. She kissed him back as furiously as he had kissed her. Sam wasn't the type to change her mind about things. Why would she change her mind about being Freddie's friend?
And he started to think that maybe it was best for them to avoid what happened. He just couldn't stand the thought of her hating him all over again. It seemed like they had worked so hard to become friends and now—in one instance—they blew it.